


Underneath

by Whenhopediesyoung



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Child Soldiers, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Self-Mutilation, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 14:24:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17830247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whenhopediesyoung/pseuds/Whenhopediesyoung
Summary: She half-sways under the too bright lights, fingers clenching briefly in the torn skin on her side. A laugh flings itself out of her mouth, desperately loud. She can taste salt.





	Underneath

She shudders. Entire body shaking. It's been a long walk. Hours and hours dismantled, reworked as light and darkness. It's dark now, again. Cold. She shakes as the door flies open hard enough to smash across the door. Hunches inward, tipping toward the mirrors. For a heart stopping second she catches sight of her skin pebbling and thinks... but no, that's just the cold.

As she watches, eyes dragged inexorably toward her reflection, her lips pull back automatically snarling. There's too much of a smile in the gesture, like she's on the edge off insane laughter. She slams her fist down, once, again, trying to drive the half-mad mirth from her expression. A sound leaves her, choked and inhuman. Pleading. But her face remains fixed in that damning expression.

She hits the wall, near the mirror causing the woman who had burst in to jump. Good. This is her fault. The women rushes by yanks the door open too soon a fresh burst of wind threatens to rip it away. Raven watches her struggle with it entire body twisting. She gives up, leaps through the door and down the shadowy path toward her huddle of friends.

Tears slide down her face. They run for it, from her as if worried they might be tainted. She shrieks. Animal, beastly, with enough growl to make her perk her own ears, listening for and answer. Back to punching. It's something, if not nearly enough, fear stealing strength away from even before she hand makes contact. Scared. A scared little girl, screaming and sobbing for someone who'll never come. Who never existed.

Raven can't see anymore, as her hand digs frantically into her jacket pocket, grasping blindly for her knife. A switch blade, bulky and battered. Red still clings, faintly to it's dulling edges. She shoves her jacket mostly down her shoulder, grasping now. The frantic breaths of an animal with a heavy foot on it's neck. She presses the blade hard against her skin. Pulls it slow and punishing. Watches the blood well up.

Again. Just like the instructors say. Again. And again. And again. Until she's screaming with it. All rage and unfamiliar features half held into place even though it hurts, hurts like her very cells are spasming. Like each rough lump of flesh and cartilage is trying to peel off her and form it's own self. To run away.

She doesn't scream now, just stares into her reflection, pale, teary, solemn-faced. Just stares occasionally glancing off to make sure the cut is deep enough, to move the blade a little this way or that. Until her eyes start watering again, blurring each blind sending tears down her face. Then she starts sawing, vicious and blind letting loose furious screams inbetween.

Weak. Weak. Weak. And cowardly too.

Half against her will, hating herself all the while, Raven raises her knife up to her throat. Puts it at her jugular trembling. Making eye contact as best she can. She pulls her lips back again, snarl-screaming. "Do it!" She bucks at her own reflection, daring it. "Do it.!" She screams, voice spiralling upward in a hopeless shriek.

Her hand drops down. The person on the other side of the mirror, looks exhausted now. Hopeless. "Coward." Her voice comes out lower then she expects. The way it does when first meeting strangers. "Coward." The word is a lash, as wounding as the blade. More so. Raven presses her greasy forehead to the glass.  She rolls it against the cool surface, shifting in place.

Dragging in a breath she leans back grasps her shirt and draws it up over her ribs. This is different. She even hold the knife more delicately, aware of the danger it poses. Her shoulder throbs, slient witness. Carefully breathing out she presses her fingers against her ribs, searching for gaps. There. Slowly moving the knife toward her finger tips she hunches, full focus on the task at hand.

She presses the knife in deep. Unwilling her head goes up, eyes shutting. It hurts. Deeper, but not too much. She knows how far to go by now. Then slow and careful, she slides the knife down. The cut is deep and even. Enough that she can wiggle the knife inside it. Can slowly carve under the thin skin on her ribs. The blood feels warm, tacky. Her head feels fuzzy.

She doesn't feel the knife drop. Hears it clatter distantly. This time her face holds no interest, instead she focuses on the wound. Red and meaty, just like anyone else. Anyone normal. Raven knows how this ends, unsatisfactory, but she can't help but hope. Maybe if she digs deep enough she can track down what's wrong with her. Maybe if she can find it she can pick it out.

Raven fits her finger tips into the bloody fissure. Worms them deeper. Presses until she's crying again then shaking. Until she's leaning foward teeth bared. Be stronger. Be better. She can't breath, it hurts. With a whimper she withdraws her hand. Bloody, shaken she clings to the scratched up sink. And sobs.

Later, long enough that the darkness feels less dense, she draws herself up. Stares at her empty haggared expression. With a thought her face changes, becoming darker and wider. Squares her shoulders. Her haunted expression will stay, but it's the same on everyone else wears anyway. Like they're a bad day away from putting a shot gun in their mouth. She'll survive. She's Raven Darkholme. And it's time to go home.

**Author's Note:**

> Loved it? Hate it? Let me know.


End file.
